In between the seasons
by stilljustme
Summary: "Dark wings, dark words", it is said in the North, and there are enough dark words to be told. And light words, and loving words, and dying words. Collection of letters all through Westeros. Chapter 9: Jeor to Jorah
1. Jon to Bran

_Bran,_

_When you're reading this, I'm probably already at the Wall waiting for you. I haven't seen it yet, since we've left home only five days ago, but from all uncle Benjen told us… well, you know the old stories as well as I do. Maybe even better.  
They say the Wall's impossible to climb up, but if anybody can do it, it's you. You just need to wake up, which I suppose you have by now, so… we will go up there together, Bran, I promise. I don't know what happened before you fell, but don't be afraid.  
I know you will climb again, little brother, if you only wake up. You're a Stark, and a dire wolf-keeper, and a conqueror of heights. Never forget that.  
I miss you, and I pray for you, as we all do. Wake up and come. Ghost could need some company._

_Always, little brother,_

_Jon._

His hands shivered, and not only because of the cold, as he stashed pen and ink. The paper crackled loudly in the quiet wood, and from the corner of his eyes Jon could see the two boys staring at him. Of course, none of them could write or read. All they had done in their life was raping and stealing, and yet they were to serve the same way he would. The black made them all equal, and back at Winterfell, with Lady Stark and Theon Greyjoy around, this had sounded good for Jon.  
Now, though, he realized that there was another side to that cloak – and it looked a lot heavier to bear than he had expected.

"Move on! We're needed on the Wall!"  
Five days ago, that call from Benjen had filled Jon with pride. Now it almost scared him. If people like the two lawbreakers were needed… what force could they possibly muster up? And against whom, actually?

And all the while, Bran lay in Winterfell, floating between life and death. The picture made Jon's heart heavier than even his future. It had been hard enough to say goodbye to his family, given that he would very likely not see them again for years at least, but leaving Bran not knowing if he would wake and grow up… it was too much.

Jon cleared his throat. "Uncle! Can I borrow your raven?"  
Benjen frowned. "This bird is meant to carry news to and from the Wall, not for you."  
Jon didn't back away. When it came to being stubborn, he was a Stark as well as his half-siblings. "It's for Bran."  
The black man sighed and nodded.

* * *

"Another letter came today, my lady. For Bran." Maester Luwin had already extended his hand when he realized his mistake. "Seems like another consolation, my lady. Should I answer it?"  
Catelyn's gaze never left her son's face. "Yes, master Luwin. Please."  
"As you wish." The old man sighed with relief as he turned back. Much as it pained him to lie to Catelyn, he knew it would have been even worse to give her the letter. For reasons he did not ask she hated Ned's bastard, even though her children loved him dearly – and everyone could see the feeling was mutual.  
Luwin would make sure for Bran to read his brother's letter when he woke up.  
If he woke up.

* * *

Two nights later the library was burnt to the ground. It was only as Bran woke up that Maester Luwin remembered Jon's letter, hidden in one of the oldest books that now was nothing but ashes, whirling through the cold air.  
Winter was coming.


	2. Sansa to Arya

„Where's father?"  
„Looking for her. Again."  
„But he didn't sleep at all! Myrcella said she saw him in the morning with the king." Sansa's voice sounded shrill in her own ears, childlike. But she was no child anymore.  
Septa Mordane nodded gravely. "He will chase around till he finds her, no matter the king's or the realm's needs, I fear. Your lord father is a great man, but I fear the strength he has in fighting he lacked when teaching this girl."  
"She's my sister" Sansa replied sharply, "and as far as I know it has been your duty to teach and educate us."  
The Septa bowed, surprised yet not unhappy about the girl's behavior. Sansa was to be a real lady at least. "As you say."  
Sansa only nodded, too surprised herself. Why was she defending Arya? That stupid little wildling had ruined everything for her and Joffrey! She had hurt him!  
And it wasn't even because Arya was jealous of her – or at least, she wouldn't admit it. Sansa knew she could forgive her sister if she was just as irrevocably in love with the prince as she was, but why would Arya hurt him, then?  
And where was she now?

_Arya,_

_You're stupid, but I'm glad you came back. Hopefully father will punish you for running away, and even more for hurting Joffrey.  
Why did you do that? I've tried to understand you, gods know I did. You gave me more than enough time to think it through while you're away.  
I still don't know why you had to hurt the man I love, and for his sake, I don't think I can forgive you that easily.  
But coming back as you did now hopefully is a sign of courtesy, so maybe as time goes by you'll be a lady after all. And I promise that once I see you honestly regretting what you did, and begging forgiveness of my betrothed, I shall beg with you. My prince – our prince – has a kind and generous heart. Maybe he'll forgive you for my sake.  
You better pray for it, sister._

_And don't you dare show this letter to Septa Mordane or anyone else! They already think you're lost._

_I still don't hate you,  
Sansa_

The letter lay with Arya's clothes for five hours, then Sansa took it away again. She read and reread the letter, tried to rewrite it, but it would remain all the same. Her sister had ruined so much for her, yet Sansa missed her. Somehow. A little.

When Arya finally was found, Sansa barely had time to hide the letter once again under Arya's clothes.  
When they took Lady from her, she snatched it out and tore it to pieces, imagining it to be her sister's stupid face.


	3. Robb to Jon

**QueenInTheNorth**, thank you so much for reviewing! II hope you like it.

A/N: Following the request, I'll jump to **post season three** now (though I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure if I get the timeline right). There will, however, be some more letters from seasons one and two, too. If you have a specific scene or character you'd like me to write about, please tell me. I'm always thankful for any ideas, critics and reviews.

_Jon,_

_Winter is coming, brother. I think it is for real this time.  
But then again, I guess winter is always at the wall… I'd like to say that is my excuse for not having visited you, but why pretending? It would only shame our father not to speak out the true reasons.  
There are times when I wish I could leave it all behind and follow you to the wall, take the black and forget everything behind.  
It may sound ridiculous to you, but when we were younger there was more than one time that I envied you, bastard brother. Not when my lady mother was around, and I'm still sorry for how she behaved towards you.  
Maybe I should have stood up against her and be a better brother, but I had to be a good son, too. I hope you understand that.  
But for the mother you didn't have, you had freedom. You never were to be more than the man you could be, and are.  
Remember when Ser Cassel taught us to fight with our weak hands and you outmatched me thrice in a row? He said it was good that this was just a game, for in a real war I would soon be dead.  
Well, now we have war, and I am not dead yet, but to be honest I would feel a lot safer if you were here with me. Ser Cassel didn't say it then but I think he knew it; we sent our best fighter off to the wall.  
I miss you, as a warrior but more even as a brother, and the best friend I ever had. I don't blame you for anything, but lately I can't help wondering what would have happened to Winterfell and the North if you were still here. You were always darker than I was, in words and thoughts… maybe you could have seen the dangers, and reacted to them better than I did.  
But why wasting time thinking about what ifs? Stay safe, Jon. Keep the peace up there as I swear I will do here, and if it cost my life.  
Let's make our father proud, till we meet him again._

_Winter is coming,_

_Your brother Robb_

Tears ran down Jon's hollow cheeks, but they couldn't hide the words from his eyes. Robb's words. The last words he would ever read from him. Robb was dead.  
After all that had happened in the past months he hadn't thought there was anything left to hurt him that much. Ygritte held his heart, the Night Watch held his soul, and his body was still half-broken. What was it inside him that felt like dying now with Robb's letter?

_I would feel a lot safer if you were here with me…  
_Where had he been when his brother had been slaughtered? Jon closed his eyes, but the letters seemed to shone right through his eyelids. Had he been breaking his vows while Robb had been slain? Had his moaning of pleasure echoed the pain-filled cry that took his brother's last breath away?  
The heir of Winterfell, eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark, true warden of the North.  
_A brother, and the best friend I ever had._

The tears continued to fall as his whole body shook violently from sobbing, making every rib aching again.  
Was that what he had come back for?

Robb was dead.

_You never were to be more than the man you could be, and are.  
_Who were he now? A lover, loved by the most beautiful and wild woman the earth had ever beheld… no more.  
A sworn brother no more, except they took him back after what he'd done.  
A brother to the lord of Winterfell… no more either.  
He was alone.


	4. Tyrion to Jaime

Per request, for **DarylDixon'sgirl1985**– set in season one, not long after the parties have left Winterfell some for the north, some for the south.

_Dear Jaime,_

_I think I remember you warning me about the cold up here. Now, my cock has not yet frozen and fallen off, but nevertheless I have to admit I might have been better off if I had listened to you. It is cold, horribly cold, and seeing that big block of ice on the horizon does little to warm neither my heart nor my body… no part of it.  
As for my company, well, that Snow boy is certainly a Stark when it comes to cheerfulness and joy of life, but at least he is not as stubborn as his father. Much as I envy you for the weather, I think I prefer my Starks over yours – at least they don't try to interfere with things they couldn't understand.  
But enough of them, brother –_

_I hope you are well, and may your journey be safe and comfortable.  
I heard the rumors and the names they give you, and I know they hurt you. Don't let them. I know it is weird to listen to an imp, but somehow that never stopped you from doing it, and I will never forget that. So please, dearest brother, take this advice from me: Don't let any names hurt you. They who murmur them do so because they are afraid to speak them loudly, and because words are the only weapon they have against you. Don't forget who you are, for the world won't either, and they will twist the truth if they can hurt you with it._

_I think I gave the exact advice to Stark's bastard, now that I read the words. Forgive me, brother. Don't see these lines as offensive but as the sorrow of a brother for a brother._

_Take care, and do me the favor to keep some of the girl's beds in King's Landing warm for me. I'll need them once I'm back!_

_Tyrion Lannister,  
The Imp_

"How dare he!" Cersei fumed as she read the first line of the letter. Her misshapen brother always tried to gain Jaime's favor, and she was left out. The Imp it seemed was cunning enough to realize that she was even slyer – he would not get far with his proclaiming of sibling love if he wrote to her. So he always turned to Jaime, and Jaime, despite his ambition and honor, somehow seemed to actually love their little brother.  
Why, Cersei could not say, and she didn't care. It was wrong. Jaime belonged to her, had always belonged to her, from the moment they had lain entwined in their mother's womb. She would not share him with anybody.

Without reading further, the queen tossed the letter into the fire.


	5. Jaime to Tyrion

Jaime smiled as they reached King's Landing. Home, sweet home, finally. He wasn't sure if he had endured it any longer. Eddard Stark was as charming as always, making Jaime wanting to slice his throat open with every word he said. The new hand was even more stubborn and blind as the old one had been, and that idiot Robert loved Stark even more than he had loved Arryn.  
Maybe he should kill His Grace first. Tyrion would try to stop him, but fortunately his little brother was far, far away.

_Brother,_

_I can only hope the north hasn't frozen your manhood to death – it is a short way from the city to the castle, and I swear I've seen at least five new whores for you. If you're fast enough, you may even get them while they're still maidens. I don't think our good fat king could break them.  
How is the north? Have you found world's end already, and can I send you some idiots up there to fill the ranks of the ragged raiders calling themselves knights? Our prisons are filled with scum, and worse even, the Hand's tower now is as well. I really wish Ned Stark would have listened to his pathetic wife's begging and stayed with his dying little son. Or followed his bastard. _

_But enough of them. Our sweet sister is enraged about her stupid husband's drinking and eating, though if I may say so, she's overreacting. The more Robert drinks, the longer he sleeps, and the better for us. _

_Don't stay too long up there, Tyrion. Cock or no cock we need you here. The Lannister's time has almost come. Time to pay the last debts._

_Ser Jaime  
Kingsguard, called the kingslayer_

When the raven brought Jaime's letter, Tyrion was already five days on the way. After reading, Maester Aemon hid the words in his library, just as Maester Luwin had done in Winterfell. Dark wings, dark words… the Lannister's time was come? What for? He surely was too old for that.  
And once Benjen Stark was missing, Maester Aemon knew there were more pressing tasks at hand.


	6. Robb to Bran

A/N: I'm not sure if this scenario is possible at all, but let's just pretend it is. Reviews are very welcome ;)  
set shortly after season three

* * *

The raven was following them for more than a day now, without ever coming closer than eyesight. If they weren't so far away yet from everything Bran would suppose the bird was carrying a letter, and had somehow lost its way. But whom could it search around here?

Osha squinted. "That bird" she said, her voice hard with tension, "it's looking for us." She turned to Bran. "Call it here. I'll be ready to make sure it'll never fly away." A rock in one hand, her knife in the other she waited.  
Bran stared at her for a moment, unwilling to understand. "Why?"  
"Because it's following us", she cried out, "and because there may be others like you. Others who can see through animal's eyes and control their minds, others who see where we are. I can't protect you against an army, little prince."  
"Hodor", Hodor murmured softly.

Reluctantly, Bran nodded. He knew Osha was right but still… he _didn't want_ to know what this bird was bringing. No matter for whom it was sent.  
But such feelings Osha would not understand, and Bran knew what it cost her to be here with him. So carefully he reached out, looking for the bird with all his senses.

_Blood. Pools of blood by the fire. On the floor. Loose arrows lying around, some of them buried deeply into human flesh._

Bran shuddered. This bird had seen killing, slaughtering even.  
"It comes here!" Osha nodded grimly. "Well done, Bran."

"It's not for us" Bran said quickly, "let it fly away, Osha. There war's no concern of us."  
The woman looked at him sadly but didn't say a word, and the raven came closer.

_Sigils on the ground, stained with blood. The direwolf. The corpse of a woman, beheaded, looking frail and old in death but yet so familiar…_

"No!" Bran cried. "Osha, please, I don't want it here!"  
"Hodor", Hodor cried.

The raven landed right before him, his clever eyes directed at Bran, a letter knotted to his leg. When Bran reluctantly touch the bird to free the letter, the pictures unfolded.

_Mother's head, three feet away from her body. Her dead hands reached out for another corpse, a young man's, clothed also in the colors of Winterfell.  
_He seemed even younger in death, Bran realized, scarcely older than when they had said goodbye.  
He knew before he opened the letter who had sent it.

_Bran,_

_Wherever you are, I hope you are well. When you read this letter… don't be too sad, Bran. I might be dead. If so, I hope I died protecting our people, and you. Winter is coming and there's more than once that I wish king Robert never had come to Winterfell. For all our sake._

_Stay strong, little brother, true heir of Winterfell – that is, if I really am dead. Don't be sure about that till you see my corpse. When you fell, we feared you had died, but you're stronger than we all thought, Bran. You're the son of a direwolf, and since I am… maybe I'm stronger than I feel, too. _

_I'm very proud of you, little brother. You kept me upright these days though you couldn't stand on your own.  
Stay strong, and stay safe. _

_With love,  
Robb_

"Bran? What is it? Can I kill the bird?"  
But Osha received no answer. Summer leapt out of the thick bushes beneath the trees and curled around Bran as he started to cry.


	7. Cersei to Robert

- Post The Wolf and the Lion (1x5) -

_Your Grace,_

_I thank you for the honesty you honored me with.  
I only wish you would have been man enough to say so seventeen years ago, when the septon bound our hands and fates and chained me to your side. _

_I loved you once, Robert, with all my heart. I adored the man you were, fighting for the Iron throne, proud and strong.  
Not the pig you have come to be, fat enough not to feel the hardness of the steel you sit on anymore. Ever since you told me about the beautiful, graceful Lyanna, promised to you in your youth… I can't help but wonder how your life would be with her.  
If that slut would have had the courage to gash open your throat when you started snoring beside her, after coming home past midnight, stinking of wine, defiled with your own seed you spread in a brothel.  
If your beloved Lyanna was only a bit as her parochial brother is… she would have long turned you away.  
You are not a king anymore, and even less a man._

_While I am the queen, a regent you could never be.  
I loved you once, and all you gave me was contempt. You ruined my life, your Grace, and I will take it back. All those years you took from me._

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Jaime laughed softly. Cersei didn't look up. "He deserves it."  
"Oh, he deserves far more than only your dark words, sweet sister." The kingslayer's hands started travelling down the queen's neck, unlacing her dress at the back. "And he will get it."  
"If only that works" she murmured restively. "I don't like the idea of it. It is too obvious, since we've got Eddard Stark here. He will know."  
"He can't know, he's not part of the party." Jaime shook his head impatiently. "And he's too… parochial, as you put it, Cersei, to ever think of such a vile thing. We are safe, and His Grace will be safe, too. Safe and sound and no longer ruining your life." His voice turned hard now, filled with so much hatred it made Cersei smile. "I will make him pay. If the boar doesn't, if no arrow strikes him, I swear I will kill him myself. I will earn the name they gave me." His breath was hot against her throat now, and as she turned to face him he pulled down her gown, cupping her bare breasts. "Let me give you what he can't, sweet sister."  
Cersei leant forward to kiss him. "Promise me."  
"I promise."


	8. Arya to Jon

She would not cry.

Heavy rain poured down outside, blackening the afternoon, reaching through the walls with damp fingers. Winter was coming, even in King's Landing.

She would not cry.

In the courtyard below she saw the first fires being lit, half-hidden under the heavy front roofs. The buildings in front of her window were lightened up, too, room after room. Over there they were feasting and laughing as if the sun was still up, as if nothing could end this summer.  
As if Mycah and Lady weren't dead.

She would not cry.  
Arya had promised herself to stay strong and cold, just like Needle was, but as the raindrops kept drumming on the wall and drowning every other sound, drowning everything outside her dark and chilly chamber, she couldn't stop the tears from falling.  
He was dead. Mycah was dead, and it was her fault, hers and Joffrey's and Sansa's, but foremost...it was hers. She should have known better than to trust her sister, or the king, or anyone. They didn't care for what was true as long as they got what they wanted.  
Mycah couldn't have known, but she could. She should. Arya knew she was no lady, not like Sansa and Myrcella, not even like Jeyne Poole, but still... she was the daughter of the lord of Winterfell - the liege lord of Mycah's father. The smith was bound to obey, and so was - so had been his son, till the Hound had killed him.  
And then Joffrey had made them kill Lady. And Nymeria was gone, probably run home, probably dead.

Water and snot puddled down her face, and as Arya reached up to dry her cheeks she realized her hands were still clutching Needle, as if she could protect anyone. Or kill?  
The blade was cool, but still the feeling of it gave her a small comfort. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, the leather and wood still smelled of home. Winterfell, Mycah, Robb defeating all oft he guest lordlings... Jon and her sitting on the galleries, watching.

Jon. The memory hurt so bad it made Arya sob again. Of course she missed Bran and Rickon and Robb and her mother, but she would see them again. Not long, she kept telling herself, and the high ladies of Kings Landing would tire of trying to make her one of them, and would send her home. Not long.

But maybe she would never see Jon again. And right now, especially right now, it was him she missed most. He would understand her - he always understood. He always knew what to say, even if he didn't use many words.  
Arya clutched Needle tightly. "Stick them with the pointy end", he had said when he had given her the sword. Her sword. Jon knew she was not a lady, he knew she would rather be out on the wall with him, or at least in the woods where they had been hunting, Robb and him and Theon Greyjoy and, recently, before he had fallen, Bran.  
Jon had always known who she was, and he had liked her just like that. He would understand. He would know what to do. If only he could be here!

_Dear Jon,  
I hope you're happy at the wall. Is it really that big? Have you seen any wildlings yet, or giants?_

_I wish I could be with you. I hate King's Landing, I don't belong here. Father hates it, too, I can tell it. But he loves king Robert, and he can't break his words so he stays, and we have to stay with him. I hope not for long. I don't know if I can stay here for much longer without stabbing Joffrey. He's a monster! He let the Hound kill Mycah, but it was me, I asked him to fight with me!  
I wanted to practice with Needle, and Mycah's just a bit taller than I am, and not so much stronger. At least he plays to be not so much stronger, and I'm moving faster than him, so we were almost equal. But then Sansa came, and she brought him with her, and then Joffrey made Mycah fight him and I hit him but they killed Mycah, just because of Sansa and... I hate her, Jon. I hate her, and I hate prince Joffrey, and I hate the king because he's fat and lazy and wouldn't even listen to me. Lady's dead now, too, and I had to send Nymeria away. I'm afraid she's long dead. Somehow everyone involved with me gets hurt, and I don't understand why. I want to go home, Jon. I want to go home even though I know you won't be here. But I can visit you, can't I? The wall's not that far away. And maybe I can stay there, forever, I'll be as good a fighter as any of the Night's Watch, you can teach me! I don't want to be a lady, I want to be like you. Or like Robb...anyone but me, and anywhere but here right now._

_But I can't be whining all the time, right? I can't be brave if I'm crying. I will keep practicing, Jon, you'll see. I'm gonna..._

_I miss you, and say hello to uncle Benjen for me and stay safe._

_Arya_

Jon read the letter thrice, and he was still not sure he understood everything, but his little sister's grief shone right through the letters and made him tense with compassion. She sounded very lonesome, as if she had nobody to talk to. From what he had read Jon knew that Sansa wouldn't be any help to Arya now, if she ever saw her fault in this. And their father surely was very busy now, as Hand of the king.

Ghost nudged the boy in the ribs, sensing his sorrow, and thankfully Jon stroked the soft fur. Arya didn't even have that solace anymore. She was alone now and feeling responsible for a friend's death - something she should never feel, well, nobody should feel like that. But especially not Arya.  
Jon shook his head, trying to shake the confusion and pain Arya's words had carried to him. Suddenly Allister Thorne didn't seem so much of a problem anymore. Jon would find his place, he knew, somehow he would, he was not alone,... his little sister was. Jon knew how lonely you can feel in a hall crowded with people. It was a feeling he didn't wish to anybody.  
And especially, especially not for Arya. But she did feel it, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

"Ghost, where have we left her in?"


	9. Jeor to Jorah

_My son,_

_it has been more than fifteen years since I have last seen you.  
It were my words that sent you away, but it were your decisions that made me do so.  
You were a man grown, older than many of them who are sent to me here to the wall, where I embrace them as brothers of the Night's Watch.  
Brothers they are to each other, sons they become to me. In every one of them I seek for features of you, you fool, and in each of them I try to make up for what wrongs I did to you that made you betraying me so. Me and our family, and your king, and your honor._

_And yet, you are my son. And as winter is coming – in truth now, not only in the Stark's words – and as darkness rises I feel that I am only human. I swore to take no wife and father no sons, and I have kept that promise, but I can't forget the son I had.  
I cannot offer you forgiveness of what you did, but I can offer you what every man is offered – a life as sworn brother. Come home, take the black, and help us. Fight for an honorable cause at last. I know Eddard Stark has banned you from these lands, but he is dead now, and darker things take their toll. The game of thrones is played again, and I do not know who will win it this time.  
For us here, it does not matter._

_If you_

"Lord Commander."  
Mormont looked up at the boy standing in front of him, his hand dropping casually onto the parchment. "Good night, Jon. You swore your oath?"  
"I did."  
"You are a man of the Nights Watch now."  
"Yes, Lord Commander."  
"And you wonder if this was the worst decision you ever made, since it binds you to the sheets and meals of an old man?" He kept his voice mockingly, but his heart beat strangely fast.  
As Lord Commander, every life on the wall was his responsibility, and he tried to get to know each of the boys and men that were sent to him. Most of them were hard, thoughtless men nowadays, men that either broke in their first month or turned to silent, sullen, but good rangers.  
Jon Snow, however, was different. Despite his hunched shoulders and cast down glance, there was a certain pride in the bastard boy, a strength that already showed he would be a leader one day, if he lived so long.  
To lead, though, he first would have to serve.

"I swore the oath, my lord."  
"Wind and words." Mormont sighed. The half-written letter under his fingers seemed to be made out of ice, freezing him through and through. It was not right to distrust Snow but start to trust Jorah again, just because the latter was his blood and far enough away not to make any trouble right now. If anything, he had to see both of them as his sons.

Jon looked up. The stubbornness in his eyes was Ned Stark's, but the devotion in them came from somewhere else, his mother, most likely, a girl from the sea or so the stories said.  
"I swore the oath, in front of my brothers. In front of the old gods, the gods of my father. My gods. I swore to be your man, Lord Commander, and the realm's man. Whether you have me as your servant or choose someone else, my watch has already begun, and it will not end until I die."

"Well said." Mormont nodded slowly. "Go then, Snow. Fetch me some hot wine."  
The boy – no, man now – bowed and left.

Fourteen years, and already more of a man than his son had ever been. Anger filled the Lord Commander, fiercer and hotter than any wine could do. Without looking at the words, he turned around and threw the letter into the fire behind him.  
He had enough sons to care for.


End file.
